The context of this post is that I read Stephen Fry's letter to himself, aged 16, in the Guardian earlier this year. It's a response to the letter he wrote at that age to his older self, published in Moab is my Washpot. The Guardian readers' responses were great, and now there has been an anthology published, Dear Me. I have tried a number of times to write this letter and here it is.
Dear Iris,
It is the end of 2009, and I am 23. That is, you are 23. For you, it is the end of 2002. I remember that as a pretty rough year. You attempted suicide 6 months ago, and it terrified you. But know that you do survive.
Oh, Iris, it's so hard to think of how miserable you are right now. The end of your first term of 6th form and you're hurting over the prefect elections, you think you'll never be able to be comfortable with your sexuality, and you cry yourself to sleep. You're not alone, you are struggling right now because you don't know other gay teenagers. I'm so sorry you can't, but I can't help you with that. I know that you're confused because you thought your depression was behind you; I remember the red leather diary in which you wrote that it was a clean start away from depression. Well, I want to be honest with you. Depression, for you, is part of your life. After years of thinking it'll get better with every passing year you will eventually realise that no amount of landmarks (starting uni, turning 21, having a relationship, graduating...) will cure you. You just need to learn to cope.
And Iris, please find another way to cope. Listen to all the people who tell you how much you will regret the scars, please try to stop cutting yourself. We both know it does nothing for you, and if you don't stop now it'll be almost impossible. If you can find it in you, when you do manage to stop in a few months, please don't start making yourself sick. You don't know what it will do to yourself - not to mention the people you care about - to support you through years of self-harm and bulimia. Try talking to your therapist (I know you think she's useless, but she's your support right now) about the fact you comfort-eat. You know it's a form of disordered eating, give other people the credit that they will believe you.
There is so much joy and fun ahead of you. I know you can't see it, and it sounds like I'm just trotting out the same tired clichés as everyone else, but that's because everyone else is very wise!
When you get to university, you will find your niche. You're going to have so much fun meeting new people and revelling in the joy of genuine friendship. You will find a church that accepts you, you won't compromise your faith. When you find that church it will change your life.
I want to tell you to stay away from the people that will break your heart - some friends, some lovers or potential lovers - but I can't. The fact is, those people facilitated the transition from you to me. I am a stronger person than you are because I have learned how to survive hurt. But you know what, Iris? You're pretty strong right now.
One more thing, your friendships won't last forever. That's not your fault. But do me a favour? If you think someone is a bit of a bastard who lets people down, then remember that when they let you down. Remember that it's not about you, whatever you may think. Don't let other people dictate your worth, know that you are a child of God.
I don't want to say too much, but I hope these words have brought you some comfort. You do survive, and you will do well.
God bless you, sweetheart. Look after yourself.
Monday, 7 December 2009
Sunday, 6 December 2009
What self harm is (and isn't)
One of the more obvious effects of my mental health difficulties is that I self-harm by cutting myself. I have done this since my early teens, for almost ten years now, and the cuts have increased in severity over time. I use the term self-harm to describe this particular behaviour. I know some people find it too vague, "self-harm" could mean any one of a number of things, but it's a term I'm comfortable with.
I believe that self-harm is an addiction. I believe that the reason the wounds get deeper is because, like any other addiction, you begin to need more over time. But I also believe there are some basic fallacies in the world that I want to correct. These are things that have been said either in self-help books, on websites and by well-meaning people to me.
1. "I don't understand. Of course it hurts, isn't it meant to hurt?"
Yes and no. At the time, the endorphin rush and the relief are caused by the pain and the sight of the wound. But the subsequent pain as the wound heals is not an intended consequence, and does make people miserable.
2. "They call themselves 'cutters'."
I honestly read that on the back of a book that was designed to support families and friends of people who self-injure. I have never heard anyone I know (and I know a lot) who self-harms to call themself a 'cutter'. It's a vile term, implying that we have some kind of tribal identity. The reality is that there isn't really a 'we'. Sure, sometimes friends turn to each other for support, sometimes discovering that another friend self-harms can trigger a person to start, but we are not a clan. We do not have a name. We are not 'cutters'.
3. "Your scars are beautiful."
Um, no they're not. I regret them, but they are a part of who I am. Do not assume that I did this for vanity, or to get sexual attention.
4. "Self-harm is just attention seeking behaviour."
Again, it's not. Self-harm is not about getting other people to see the wounds. In fact, most people who self-harm are deeply ashamed of their wounds. We don't display them. If someone trusts you enough to let you see their wounds or their scars, you should respect that.
I believe that self-harm is an addiction. I believe that the reason the wounds get deeper is because, like any other addiction, you begin to need more over time. But I also believe there are some basic fallacies in the world that I want to correct. These are things that have been said either in self-help books, on websites and by well-meaning people to me.
1. "I don't understand. Of course it hurts, isn't it meant to hurt?"
Yes and no. At the time, the endorphin rush and the relief are caused by the pain and the sight of the wound. But the subsequent pain as the wound heals is not an intended consequence, and does make people miserable.
2. "They call themselves 'cutters'."
I honestly read that on the back of a book that was designed to support families and friends of people who self-injure. I have never heard anyone I know (and I know a lot) who self-harms to call themself a 'cutter'. It's a vile term, implying that we have some kind of tribal identity. The reality is that there isn't really a 'we'. Sure, sometimes friends turn to each other for support, sometimes discovering that another friend self-harms can trigger a person to start, but we are not a clan. We do not have a name. We are not 'cutters'.
3. "Your scars are beautiful."
Um, no they're not. I regret them, but they are a part of who I am. Do not assume that I did this for vanity, or to get sexual attention.
4. "Self-harm is just attention seeking behaviour."
Again, it's not. Self-harm is not about getting other people to see the wounds. In fact, most people who self-harm are deeply ashamed of their wounds. We don't display them. If someone trusts you enough to let you see their wounds or their scars, you should respect that.
Saturday, 5 December 2009
What's in a name?
Why 'Running Iris'? I gave the title of this blog a lot of thought and eventually named it after my favourite statue.
The so-called Running Iris is a statue from the west pediment of the Parthenon in Athens. She is currently in the British Museum with the other Parthenon Marbles. I fell in love with her immediately. Something about the lines of the drapery, characteristic of the Classical period in the 5th century BC.
In her brokenness, she is beautiful. She has lost her head and face, the things that should create her character, but we still see who she is. She is a messenger, moving on the wind so fast that her thin dress clings to her legs. But we can't see her emotion. Is she running toward, or away? In context, we can see her running toward the birth of Athena Parthenos (the Maiden Athena), in whose honour the complex was named. But in isolation, she could be anyone, anywhere. She could be me.
Interestingly from an archaeological and art historical point of view, she was also the focus of the British Museum's new imaging technique this year that for the first time has found evidence of paint (Egyptian blue) on her belt. It's exciting because we knew - hypothetically - how brightly coloured the temple was from evidence on contemporary sculpture.
I suddenly remembered, when I was thinking about this at work the other day, that Iris is also the name of a Goo Goo Dolls song that meant a lot to me as a teenager.
I know this is corny, it really is, but I loved it;
I don't want the world to see me,
'Cos I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
So that's who I am, Iris. Running, hiding from the world, because I don't think that they'd understand. Maybe they won't, so I'll use this name for now. Something to hide behind.
The so-called Running Iris is a statue from the west pediment of the Parthenon in Athens. She is currently in the British Museum with the other Parthenon Marbles. I fell in love with her immediately. Something about the lines of the drapery, characteristic of the Classical period in the 5th century BC.
In her brokenness, she is beautiful. She has lost her head and face, the things that should create her character, but we still see who she is. She is a messenger, moving on the wind so fast that her thin dress clings to her legs. But we can't see her emotion. Is she running toward, or away? In context, we can see her running toward the birth of Athena Parthenos (the Maiden Athena), in whose honour the complex was named. But in isolation, she could be anyone, anywhere. She could be me.
Interestingly from an archaeological and art historical point of view, she was also the focus of the British Museum's new imaging technique this year that for the first time has found evidence of paint (Egyptian blue) on her belt. It's exciting because we knew - hypothetically - how brightly coloured the temple was from evidence on contemporary sculpture.
Running Iris, the British Museum
Photo, (c) Iris 2009
Photo, (c) Iris 2009
I suddenly remembered, when I was thinking about this at work the other day, that Iris is also the name of a Goo Goo Dolls song that meant a lot to me as a teenager.
I know this is corny, it really is, but I loved it;
I don't want the world to see me,
'Cos I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
So that's who I am, Iris. Running, hiding from the world, because I don't think that they'd understand. Maybe they won't, so I'll use this name for now. Something to hide behind.
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